


Wood and Stone

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Giving, Gifts, M/M, Mithril, Protective Thorin, Thilbo, bagginshield, post-botfa au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6426649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident in the workshops is a serious setback in the rebuilding of Erebor. But it comes even worse for Thorin: It seems that Bilbo has been near the scene of the accident, but has now slipped away ... And what had he been doing in the workshops anyway, being all secretive? Thorin doesn't know that it has something to do with the mithril shirt ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wood and Stone

Thorin stared at the chaos in front of him, a big lump in his throat. He remembered the workshops in their glorious days: dwarves being busy on a long row of workbenches, piles of rough gems in front of them, creating the most delicate pieces of jewellery, the constant noise of cutting devices, the hissing of portable forges and coal pans, the clanging of chisels and hammers.

His memories had been like the dream of a long lost time, something that no power in this world could ever bring back. But after so many years, so many decades of yearning, he had hoped. Nay, it had been more than hope: Thorin had been convinced that they could rekindle the former glory of Erebor’s craftsmanship. The events in the months since the death of Smaug and the Battle of the Five Armies had raised his hopes. Many dwarves, either from the Iron Hills or from elsewhere in Middle-Earth, had found their way to the formerly greatest of their kingdoms to help in the rebuilding. Halls had been cleaned, stair cases repaired, paths cleared, and the forges had been activated. And recently they had been able to open the workshops again.

It had been an act of great symbolic power. The craftsmen there did not forge weapons or steel doors or machinery. They produced art: breath-taking jewellery, precious goblets, and even delicate musical instruments. It was a sign: Erebor was reclaimed and the fundamentals had been restored. The battle to survive was won. Now the dwarves could relish the work they loved more than everything else again. It was time to establish the reputation of the dwarves of Erebor as skilled artists again.

But all Thorin could see right now were piles of boulders, scattered valuables and tools, and dust. One of the portable forges must be hidden somewhere in this mess; he could still hear the crackling of coals. The injured dwarves had already been taken to another room nearby, thank Mahal. He was not sure if he would have been able to look into their eyes.

He had to clear his throat before he could actually speak. When he did, his voice was hoarse. “Do we already know how this happened?”

Next to him, Balin shrugged. The gesture looked as helpless as Thorin felt. “We are not sure, but it seems that one of the supporting pillars broke down which caused a part of the ceiling to collapse. But there is no apparent reason for this. This area has been checked several times by the engineers before they let the workers enter to clean up, and another several times before the craftsmen were allowed to come here. They didn’t report any abnormalities. All was perfectly safe.”

“At least it seemed.” Thorin could hardly take his gaze off the mess. A hall that collapsed with no obvious reason. He felt like he had been hit right in the face. He could only hope that this was a solitary case and would not happen somewhere else. He shook his head. “Let’s go to see Oin. I need to make sure that the craftsmen are okay.”

A part of Thorin was glad to leave the chaos that once had been the workshops behind, but he wasn’t very keen on seeing the injured dwarves either. But it was his duty – his duty as King under the Mountain to go to see them and make sure that no one was injured severely. He wouldn’t leave this task to anyone else.

The room where Oin took care of the wounded wasn’t far off. He could hear the craftsmen mumbling, he even heard a soft laughter as he approached. A good omen.

But the noises died down when the king entered the chamber, and half a dozen faces stared at him. Thorin stopped in the doorway. His gaze moved from one dwarf to another, gathering every single detail. He saw cuts and bruises as well as a good deal of dried blood and some bandages, but no severe injuries. Dwarves were resilient, and they nodded at him as he looked into the eyes of each individual craftsman.

“Quite a nasty noise, wasn’t it?”, one of them said and caused some mild laughter.

“Sorry for startling you with that racket, m’Lord”, another one told him with an apologizing shrug.

“You call this a racket? Last week I drank some ale with my brother-in-law, and _that_ turned into a racket, I tell you! When his brother joined us …”

Thorin relaxed at the good-humoured comments, but maintained an upright posture nonetheless. Oin approached him, shaking his head in amusement.

“As you can hear, they are all quite well. It’s always a good sign when such fellows talk rubbish.”

“So no severe injuries?”, Thorin required.

“No, they are all well”, Oin confirmed. “I don’t know where Bilbo went, however. Have you seen him?”

Thorin stared at him for a few moments, trying to get what the healer had just said. A sudden fear gripped him when he finally did. “You’re not telling me that Bilbo was in the workshops when – when the ceiling collapsed, are you?” He tried to keep his voice low and calm, but it was a great effort.

Oin looked somewhat abashed. “I thought you knew.  He was in the workshops indeed, but he wasn’t badly injured. I told him to follow us here so I could tend his wounds – only some cuts, mind you –, but it seems he has slipped away …”

His words, though intended to calm Thorin, only contributed to his unrest. Bilbo had been in the workshops – and he had been injured! It didn’t really matter that the hobbit obviously felt well enough to sneak away without any medical treatment. Thorin’s first impulse was to turn around, look for Bilbo and make sure that he was okay, but he suppressed it. He _had_ to. It was a painful realization, but Thorin knew that he just couldn’t turn around. He was King under the Mountain after all. He had certain responsibilities, the wellbeing of Erebor and its inhabitants had to be his first priority. And although Bilbo was one of Erebor’s inhabitants – and the dearest of them all to Thorin – he was _only_ _one_. Thinking of his hobbit as _only_ – in whatever aspect – made him feel horrible. It felt like treachery. And yet …

He took a deep breath. Oin had said that Bilbo was okay, and he trusted the elderly dwarf. Now he needed to focus on his duties. He needed to talk to the engineers, organize the clearing-up operations and to show the injured that their king sympathized with them. So many things to do before he could actually do what was most important to him – not to the King under the Mountain, but to Thorin Oakenshield.

_I’m so sorry, Bilbo._

Thorin took a step forward to talk to the craftsmen, although something inside of him broke into pieces.

 

___________________________

 

Bilbo could hear Thorin as the dwarf passed through the great anteroom. Bilbo had retreated in the parlour, one of the more private rooms they shared. He had been sitting in an armchair, but half arose at Thorin’s entrance.

“Bilbo! Are you okay?”, he exclaimed breathlessly. He sounded as if he had hurried all the way to their chambers as if being hunted by a pack of wargs.

The hobbit blinked at him, being aware that Thorin checked his face. It was still a bit pale, he was afraid, and there was no way the dwarf could miss the cut on his cheek. At least there were no other visible injuries. Bilbo tried to cover the palm of his left hand without causing too much attention.

Calmly he answered: “I am fine, Thorin. Nothing to worry about.” His gaze wandered upward, eyeing the raven crown of Erebor on Thorin’s head. Usually the dwarf took the crown off as soon as he entered the private chambers and placed it on a small pedestal, showing admiration as well as a certain amount of relief at this gesture.

Bilbo managed a tiny smile as he sat down again. “Actually I wanted to keep my presence in the workshops a secret. Who babbled it out?”

“Oin told me.” Thorin’s voice remained grave. Bilbo’s amicable manner didn’t seem to comfort him so easily. Not this time. “I am sorry it took me so long to come and see after you. But there were the craftsmen, and the meeting with the engineers, and with the workers … I was so impatient, I’m afraid I snapped at them more than once.”

Suddenly he took the crown off his head. However, he kept it in his hands as if the weight should remind him of something. “I am sorry –“

“Please, stop apologizing”, Bilbo interrupted him quickly before the dwarf could actually say anything. “I know about your responsibilities, and how many things – not to mention how many dwarves – depend on you. You are a king after all. I understand that, and please don’t ever think that I would blame you for not hurrying to me at once in such a situation. Your people need you, and I know that.” He stood up, carefully took the crown from Thorin’s hand – he flinched at the movement – and placed it on its pedestal. “I didn’t want you to learn of my … involvement in the matter because of that, actually. I thought that you would be very busy because of this incident – and that my presence would only distract you. That’s why I slipped away.”

Thorin swallowed, a pained look in his blue eyes. “You should never consider yourself a mere distraction, Bilbo. That’s not what you are to me.”

“I know that”, the hobbit answered softly. “But that’s enough of distress for today, okay? You should get some rest.”

“I’ll try. But Oin gave me some herbs and balm for you, so let me at least tend your injuries. And don’t try to argue with me about that. Your hands are injured as well, aren’t they?”

Bilbo had in fact opened his mouth to protest, but he thought better of it and showed his left hand instead. The palm was reddish and singed.

“I’m not quite sure how that happened”, he admitted as he observed Thorin’s gaze. “I guess I stumbled and accidentally bumped into one of the coal pans or something like that. There was quite some confusion.” He showed a cheerful face, trying not to remember the chaos at the workshops. It was over. Besides, he didn’t want to worry Thorin any further.

However, it was no use denying that he needed some treatment. He grimaced even at the smallest movement of his hand. The cut on his cheek burned as well, he had to confess. Therefore he nestled in his chair again and watched Thorin as he prepared everything. The room was filled with a strong, yet pleasant smell as he crumbled the herbs into a bowl of water. Quietly he put a stool in the front of Bilbo’s chair and sat down, placing the bowl on a side table. His movements were purposeful as if he had done such a thing already a hundred times. He dipped the edge of a linen cloth into the herbal water and leaned forward. Suddenly his face was very close to Bilbo’s, one hand on the hobbit’s cheek while the other moved the linen carefully over the cut. The cloth was cool, yet Bilbo’s face seemed to heat. _Maybe it’s the herbs. It must be the herbs_ , he thought somewhat flustered. Though it was more probable that the sudden heat he felt was due to Thorin’s touch … as well as to the blue eyes right in front of him, looking at him with such concern and fondness.

The cut wasn’t deep and therefore quickly tended. The hand on his cheek disappeared. Instead Thorin took Bilbo’s left hand into his own, palm showing upwards. He lowered the cloth on the burned skin with the utmost caution as if even the slightest pressure could cause Bilbo pain. Carefully, as if handling something very fragile, he treated one finger after the other. When he had finally reached the palm, he asked in a low voice: “Will you tell me one thing, Bilbo? What were you doing in the workshops anyway?”

Bilbo’s eyes followed Thorin’s hand, almost entranced by the slow, yet purposeful movements. “I was afraid you would ask. To be honest, I meant to keep it a secret … for a while, at least.”

“If it is a secret”, the dwarf answered quietly without any disruption in his care, “then you don’t have to tell me.”

“That won’t do, I guess.” Bilbo shook his head. “After all the worry I have caused you, you should know. I was there to watch the craftsmen and … maybe get some ideas.”

“Ideas?” Thorin put the cloth aside and took the balm instead. He put some of it on his fingers and applied it on the cut on the cheek, his touch rekindling the warmth in Bilbo’s face.

“Ideas for … for a gift. That is, a gift for you.” The hobbit lowered his eyes. “We have never really talked about it, you know? The mithril shirt.”

Thorin hesitated for a moment. “I see no reason why we should talk about it”, he said calmly and took Bilbo’s left hand again to continue his care.

It was rather difficult to show an annoyed face while Thorin delicately put balm on his singed hand. How was it possible that the hands of a warrior and blacksmith could be so tenderly? His touch was delicate, just like a soft breeze. Bilbo had hardly been able to move his own hand even a little bit without biting his teeth, but Thorin’s touch didn’t affect him at all. Well, not in a painful way. In fact, it was a pleasant feeling. A really pleasant one.

Bilbo managed to keep a steady voice nonetheless: “Don’t take me for a fool, Thorin. I may not be a dwarf, but I understand one thing or two about metal. I know perfectly well how valuable mithril is! Don’t try to play that down!” He took a moment to catch his breath.

Thorin used the opportunity and said: “It was a gift, Bilbo. I don’t expect anything in return.”

“I don’t want to give you something out of obligation, but because I would like to”, Bilbo emphasized. He sighed, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. “You remember that gifts are very important to hobbits, do you? They are some kind of thanksgiving to us, a recognition of services, benefits or friendship that were shown to us … and we can also show our affection. I think that … that you deserve a gift.”

Having Bilbo’s hand covered with balm, the dwarf took some clean linen cloth and started to bandage it. He stayed silent for so long that Bilbo thought he wouldn’t receive any answer at all. But suddenly, Thorin spoke.

“Have I told you how the dwarves were created, Bilbo?”

The hobbit blinked at this sudden change in reasoning, but decided to play along. “You told me of Aule who desired children to teach them his crafts so much that he created them by himself. But he shouldn’t have done that, for it was a violation of the plans of the One. Aule repented and was even ready to destroy his children. However, life was granted to his creation. The only condition was that the dwarves should not awake before the Eldar.”

“Quite the scholar as ever”, Thorin remarked with a smile. “Therefore Aule laid the dwarves to sleep in the depths of the mountains. There the fathers of the dwarves waited in pairs – except for my ancestor Durin who was alone. There was no partner for him. Sometimes I wondered if I should resemble Durin in that aspect – being lonely, without companion.” His voice seemed steady, but Bilbo was able to detect a hint of sorrow that made his heart ache. Thorin couldn’t hide such things from him.

He fixed the bandage, and Bilbo waited patiently for him to continue. But before he did, Thorin took Bilbo’s bandaged hand fondly between his. He kissed the finger tips before he moved his head to look into his eyes. Bilbo could not help but smile at the affectionate gesture and the fond expression in Thorin’s eyes. “That, Bilbo, is the gift you give to me every day: You are here, at my side. When I wake up in the morning, I don’t even have to open my eyes to know that you are there for I can hear your breath, or I feel your hands around me. Even if I don’t feel your touch on my skin, I know that you are there. And when I open my eyes … Have I ever told you how beautiful you look in the morning sun, _amrâlimê_?”

Bilbo’s smile had widened to a rather sheepishly grin, he was afraid. “You are such a hopeless romantic, Thorin! You make me blush right up to the roots of my hair!”

Thorin half arose from his stool to give Bilbo a peck on the temple. “Which makes you look beautiful as well.”

He wanted to draw back, but Bilbo put his arms around him and huddled up against Thorin. “My dear”, he said cheerfully, “you deserve a gift for that beautiful words alone. That’s beyond any doubt!”

 

___________________________

 

“Here it is.”

Thorin looked up from his desk and the many papers that were scattered over it. He turned to face Bilbo who had just entered the study. The hobbit’s face was beaming with joy as he held his arms out to him. On the palms – the burns were already healed – rested a small box of silver. The lid showed dwarvish ornaments.

“It’s a gift for you”, the hobbit remarked simply as Thorin got closer, eyes sparkling with anticipation. Their hands brushed against each other as the dwarf took the box out of Bilbo’s hands and opened it.

The lower part was cushioned with dark velvet. Displayed on it was a silver necklace with a pendant in diamond form. It was very intricate, with vacant spaces and delicate shapes. The pattern resembled Thorin’s personal crest, the one that was worked into his ring and some other jewellery as well.

But what fascinated him most was the material the pendant was made of. Thorin carefully took the jewellery out of its box and brought it closer to his face to examine it. The surface was smooth and felt like polished stone, but it had the colour of a tree stem … No, not only of a tree stem, but of many: The colour gradient was marvellous to look at, it ranged from a warm honey-colour to a darker brown, as if some parts were lit by sunlight and other not. He could see the texture, it seemed almost like the vein of wood. It was marvellous. So much beauty in such a little thing … “It is beautiful”, he murmured, still enchanted by it. He tore his eyes away from the jewellery to look at Bilbo who evidently enjoyed Thorin’s amazement.

“It is petrified wood”, he explained. “I found it in the range of goods of a merchant from the Ered Luin. It is even oak wood, I think. Some of the craftsmen were so kind as to help me when I showed them my sketches for the form. They were actually quite eager."  Bilbo’s smile suddenly became more timid, and he lowered his eyes. “I like to think of it as … You know, you can’t really tell if it is wood or stone, but its blend is so beautiful. A blend of wood and stone.” He glanced through his eyelashes at Thorin. “Wood and stone – does this remind you of something?”

Thorin put the jewellery around his neck with slow, cautious movements. The pendant came to rest on his collarbone. It somehow felt right, as if it had always been determined to be there. “Not only of something”, he answered, a smile spreading over his face. “It reminds me of the most endearing and kind-hearted hobbit that has ever walked the fields of Middle-Earth … and of a dwarf who can hardly understand how he deserves this lovable hobbit.”

“It was a gift, Thorin. I don’t expect anything in return”, Bilbo replied, half mocking the dwarf’s own response on the matter of gifts.

“Not even a kiss?”, Thorin asked with a smile, feeling the pleasant warmth the pendant was emanating on his skin. He clasped Bilbo in his arms and immediately felt another kind of warmth, more pleasant than he was able to describe.

An embrace of wood and stone? It might sound unusual at first … but it definitely felt right. Very right.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any comments, be it critics or (if I may be so bold) praise, I would gladly hear it ;)
> 
> If you want to know more about hobbits and gifts, I recommend Tolkien's draft letter to A. C. Nunn (no. 214 in "The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien" by Humphrey Carpenter)!
> 
> If you like this story, please consider leaving a comment. I'd love to hear it!


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